Hellhounds
by Arialene
Summary: Heavy AU. What if the Man in the Moon wasn't the kind and benevolent being that kindly watches the Earth? What if, instead, he was a demon? And the Guardians his faithful, (contracted) workers. They live together, each working happily in the modern world. But what happens when a routine job the Hounds are given, turns out to be anything but routine?
1. Intro Sam Flavius

The Man in the Moon, instead of being the moon, he's a demon. Vetis. All of the Guardians are servants of hell, they've sold their souls to the demon Vetis for one reason or another. In return, they've gained immortality, shape shifting and a few other powers.

Their job, for all eternity, is to help hell collect, blemish and damn more souls for hell. They are imps to help draw up contracts, succubi/incubi to seduce, contract killers to collect on contracts that have ended and just general miscreants do anything they can on a daily basis, all in the name of evil. Hellhounds they call themselves, the dogs of hell.

The Cast:

_Sandy _= Samuel Sanderson - Originally Flavius Scipio Scaevola - patrizio Roman mid-4th century

_Pitch _= Kosmotis Thorismod - Visigoth early-5th century

_Tooth _= Mari Yaosong- Dvaravati Thai, mid-9th century

_North _= Nickola Stratsimirov (originally Sratsimir, modernized later) - Bulgarian late-14th century (Bulgarian/Ottoman war)

_Bunny _= Aster Edmund Furness (Never says his original name)- Aboriginal Australian mid-14th century

_Jack _= Jack Overland, goes by Jack Frost currently - American, late-17th century

_Man In The Moon_ = Vetis - Demon, known as the Corrupter of the Holy and the Life Promiser

_O.C._ = Mihr - Angel, represents Love and Friendship. Founded in Persian theology, patron of the month of September, particularly September 16th.

So, if you haven't figured it out from reading thus far, this is a pretty heavy A.U. fic. It's going to be fairly dark too, with me pulling elements from the books while adding in a good amount of theology, a healthy dose of movie personality, and, of course, my own spin and flair.

This is *NOT* a romance fic by any stretch of the imagination. If you've come here, wondering if I'm going to work in a romance with *ANY* character, I will say that right now. There will come POINTS where you might THINK I am putting in hints of romance, and it's not. I promise you.

The characters that I have listed above are the main characters for the story. There will be others, very minor ones that you will see pop up here and there. I will not be adding any other characters to the story, period. Do not right in the comments if any crossover characters will be in the story.

Lastly, if you have any questions, please let me know. This has the potential to be somewhat of a complicated story at first.

Now then, onto the story! I present, Hellhounds:

* * *

-*Samuel*-*Flavius*-

Rome, December 375 A.D.

* * *

"...the pain of such love makes a lover love more, but like less," he said, closing his hand dramatically from it's suspended position in the air.

His eyes were closed, and a smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, showing the dimples he had in either cheek. His olive toned skin contrasted with his fair, flaxen-colored hair that fell around his head. He wore richly colored and finely woven robes, slightly out of place with the drunkards that sat loudly several tables over, but the group of women that currently surrounded him (sighing loudly and happily as he finished the poem),

The women were all dressed differently; one woman like him, wore fine luxurious and rich colors. Others revealed far too much skin, with the tops of their dresses leaving little to the imagination with faded colors and mending showing the dresses and robes were wore often, and likely removed even more. Two more were dressed even more poorly, wine vases in their lap as they watched him, their own clothing little more than rags with large mended rips and patches obvious against the faded, muddled fabric.

"Oh Flavius," one of them sighed, one of the girls dressed in a particularly low cut dress.

"I just love how you recite Catullus. You make his words just, just come alive!" she continued, smiling dazedly at him.

Flavius smiled wider, giving her a wink as he picked up his own wine vessel and drained it, gesturing to one of the bar maids for more.

"Some day," he said, gesturing to the group. "I shall be famous as well. And all of you beautiful women can say that you knew me when."

"Oh, I'll say that I more than KNEW you Flavius," another one of the girls said in revealing clothing, causing the small group of them to all giggling and leaning their heads together to murmur.

Flavius grinned widely, chuckling as he leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, eyeing one of the girls for a long moment before picking up his refilled wine goblet.

Loud, drunken shouts were heard from the table of drunkards a few tables over, causing the barmaids to sigh.

"I'm surprised they haven't passed out yet, as much as we've given them," one of them muttered disdainfully.

He shifted to his side, bringing forward a tied bag that he worked several coins from, holding them out to the girls.

"See you tomorrow," he said, winking up at them. "Thanks for the wine."

One of them took the coins, glancing down at them, pausing and frowning.

"New coins?"

"New Emperor. Valentinian II."

"What happened to the last one?"

"Died. Don't you keep track of these things?" he asked, looking amused. "He is our grand and mighty Emperor afterall."

She shook her head, splitting the coins and pocketing her share. "Only when it comes time for taxes and holidays love," she said, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss before moving over to the rowdy table.

He grinned as he watched them go, his attention being drawn behind him and to the opposite side as a male voice addressed him sharply and formally.

"Flavius Scipio Scaevola?"

"The one and only," he said, giving a mock salute to the messenger standing beside him.

The messenger said nothing, holding out a small scrolled parchment for him. Flavius took it, giving him a coin out of his bag as well. The messenger bowed, turning and leaving the bar area.

He unrolled the short parchment, it was from his father. It was short, and to the point, like all of his conversations with his father were.

'Return home immediately. Your brother was killed in battle. Need to discuss your future. You can no longer sleep, drink and fuck all day Flavius, you have a duty to this family. -Ovidius'

He stared at the parchment, reading it once, twice, and a third time. Reading the few words on the page as if they would reveal themselves to be some big joke. He and his brother had been about as opposite as they could have been, but finding out he was dead?

"Flavius?" he heard at the edge of his consciousness; the woman beside him, dressed finely, Marcella? No, Lucretia.

"Flavius?" came again, more urgent this time.

"Flavors!" came a different voice, perky and happy and completely wrong.

Flavius blinked, now known as Samuel Anderson, shaking his head a little as he blinked again and looked up at the tall, willowy model holding two small dessert plates in her hands as she looked down at him with a wide smile on her face.

"I'm sorry?" he said, flashing her a smile. "I suppose I zoned out there."

She giggled, an annoying and high-pitched giggle he guessed was supposed to be endearing. Most of the models here did the same type of giggle.

"I asked you what kind of cake you wanted silly, they have two flavors!"

"Ah," he said, inclining his head. "Well, surprise me."

She bit her lip, looking down at the plates as she contemplated before smiling again and handing him a plate. He accepted it, giving her a wink.

"Thanks."

She giggled again, turning and clipping back off to a group of other models sitting at group of chairs under a TV tuned into a fashion show. They all had plates of sweets, candies and sodas, but this was not an unusual thing at Scipio Fashion House. But, there was a reason for this. There was always a reason for everything, sometimes you just aren't privy to the answer.

Sam set the plate of cake, untouched, forward on the small stylish table in front of him, leaning back comfortably again. He was dressed simply, but richly, in a tan tailored suit and pale blue shirt. He wore a white watch on his left wrist, with a strange symbol on the clock face. His golden-brown eyes swept the room as he surveyed everything, sand colored hair perfectly styled.

Another woman approached him, dressed more formally than the model had been in a dark pencil skirt and silky purple top, her dark hair pulled back into a knot at the back of her head. His assistant. She sat down beside him, sighing heavily.

"You've got those two designers in the work room setting up everything to show you for their interviews," she said, setting two leather bound portfolios on the table ahead of him.

He nodded. "You gave them the challenge?"

She snorted. "You need to stop watching that silly TV show. Yes, I did. And they weren't too pleased about it."

"I LIKE that show, thank you. And I like seeing what they do under pressure. It's good for them. I'll go down after the runway is over, mine should be up next."

She sighed again, opening a third binder. "You could go to those, you know. Get some nice press for the House, get our name out there. It would be good."

He smiled, raising an eyebrow at her. "I have two designers downstairs, that will be all but begging to join the House. I can show at a Fashion Week, without being there, and will get orders on all my clothing from celebrities and socialites alike. Tell me, dear Adrienne, where is the need for MORE awareness of House Scipio?"

She huffed, and he could all but see the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Or something more rude, he wasn't entirely sure. He grinned, feeling the dimples of his face show again.

"Oh! It's starting!" one of the models shouted, causing him to look up amusedly as the screen on the television was dark where the fashion show was being held. Spotlights came out as the first model came out, the models seated in the room with Sam cheering loudly.

"Yeah! Go Nikki!"

He smirked at the show as he watched it on the television, chuckling softly as the commentators on the channel made mention of his reclusive nature, and of the popularity among models and designers to try and work there. Sam hadn't attended one of his own shows in years; he didn't see the point. Either they would buy, or they wouldn't, it didn't make a damn bit of difference to him.

After the show was done, the long line of models parading the clothing coming out onto the runway to applause in the arena and loud cheers in the lounge they occupied at House Scipio, Adrienne stood and hurried out of the room, murmuring to Sam that she was going to check on the designer applicants.

The models took this opportunity to hurry over to him, draping themselves on either side of him whilst giving him wide eyes and pouting faces.

"Sam, I want to be in the next show!"

"Please! I want to wear something soon!"

"Everything you make is so gorgeous, I want to wear something! It's been three shows for me!"

He held up his hands, smiling at them, moving his arms to settle over the back of the couch.

"Darlings, my lovely sirens," he said. "You know it's just how the clothes speak to me."

He looked at them all, smirking as he did. "But, I promise, I shall let you all try them on first."

They all smiled, chatting happily amongst themselves and sharing inspirational ideas with him as he half listened to them when Adrienne came back into the room, her designer heels clicking on the tiled floor. He groaned softly, leaning forward and picking up the folders she'd left for him before standing up. The models whined as he left them.

"Duty calls," he said, turning to give them one last smile as he and Adrienne left the room.

He opened the top folder, flipping through the first few pages with a mild disinterest as Adrienne ran through credentials on both of the designers. He wasn't very tall, maybe a few inches taller than her short frame in her heels; at a glance one might place him at around 5'5". He moved to the second folder as she finished listing off their qualifications.

"I still don't know why you do that," he muttered, flipping through pictures of past designs. "I really don't care about all of that."

She scowled. "You should."

He glanced up at her, giving her an amused look. "Darling, you know how long I've been doing this. All the fancy schooling in the world doesn't mean shit if you can't sew worth a damn, or don't know a thing about actually designing."

Adrienne sighed.

"First impressions?" he asked, turning the folder to get a better look at one picture.

"Both very passionate," she said. "I don't think either one is here for the sake of wanting to be under House Scipio, they want to be here to learn and enhance their craft. And they want to do that under you."

Sam snorted. "They're in for a surprise. What do you think they will think about him?"

"I-That I really don't know."

He looked up at her at that, eyebrow raised. "Oh come now, you usually have at least an idea. You've been with me long enough now."

"Well, one girl has got a cross necklace on," she admitted.

Sam snorted. "That doesn't mean much nowadays. I guess we will see," he said, handing her back the folders and smiling at her.

He then turned, pulled open the door to the workroom and stepped inside with a more serious and calculating look on his face.

The next two hours passed quickly for him, as he silently toured around the room looking at the various works the designers had brought in. He didn't comment on anything, didn't say a word to either of them as they worked. He knew this made them nervous, more likely to babble more about the piece they made, expose any secrets they had.

Finally, he spoke, trying hard not to smile as he watched relief wash over their faces.

"Well then," he said, giving them both a smile. "I like what I see. You both show talent and promise. How about we step into my office to discuss your future and your contracts?"

They both visibly relaxed, one of the women leaning back against a work table in relief. He smiled, gesturing for them to follow him. He explained some of the base benefits of the offer he was going to be giving them; pay, housing, various other allowances, what would be expected of them work wise and how much design time they would be allowed for their own creations.

"It sounds like a dream," one of them breathed as they entered his office. "I have to be dreaming right now.

Sam closed the door behind them. "Just a rather good deal," he said, smiling at them.

He gestured to the couple of chairs that sat in front of the massive dark wood desk, stepping quickly behind it and sitting down himself. The women looked around, in awe at the expensive decor and framed design drawings hung on the walls, done by him at various stages in his life. He'd been the head of House Scipio for a very long time, just under many different assumed names.

"Now, I will say, that we do things quite differently here at House Scipio that anywhere else that you might have worked," he said, opening a drawer in his desk to reveal a stack of carefully stacked parchment. He selected two sheets, setting the crisp vellum side by side on the top of his desk before closing the drawer and opening another, removing a small, oblong case this time.

"House Scipio has a very long, and very prestigious history, as I hope you are well aware. And I do not let just anyone join my house. I've worked very hard to build it you see, it took lots of time, hard work, effort. And more than a few staff that I've had to hire over the years. I've had more designers come and go, always begging for my knowledge."

He saw the confusion flicker in their faces now. The change in verbiage always got the wheels turning in their heads. He flipped open the case, showing a very fine writing pen nestled on a bed of velvet inside and removed it, setting it also on the desk on the vellum. He replaced the now empty case in the desk.

"But," one of them spoke up. "But, House Scipio was founded in, the early 1900s."

He smiled at her, one of his hands going to rub at the back of his neck, his palm resting over the mark that was at the nape of his neck.

"Indeed it was. In Rome too. And now, we're in New Jersey, of all places," Sam said, bringing his hand back down to innocently join with his other on the desk.

"You-you're talking like you were there," the same girl said, looking nervous now. "Like-like you founded House Scipio."

A slow smile spread across Sam's face.

"You rang?" a new voice said, deep and masculine and from the shadows beside them.

The women jumped, turning in their chairs to see the impossibly handsome man strolling the few steps towards them. He wore a white suit, also impeccably tailored, with white shoes and a white shirt underneath. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and darker eyes. He sat down in the chair next to Sam, moving his legs to prop up on the desk, nonchalant and uncaring about everything.

"So what do we have then, my dear Flavius?"

Sam turned, grinning at him. "It's Samuel, or Sam, right now. Remember?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Like I keep track. Continue."

"Designers, wanting to join my little House. Contracts."

"Double contracts," he man said, the pleasure in his voice was apparent. "Well done, well done."

The women continued to stare at the dark haired man, the one with the necklace had her hands clamped tightly in her lap.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The man grinned, wider and darker now. "A friend," he said. "But you, lovely. You can call me Vetis. And I'm here to give you whatever it is that you want."

"Like a genie?" the other woman said, a tiny note of amusement in her voice.

Vetis' grin turned into a dark smile, white teeth showing. "No, lovely, something much, much better. Tell me, do you to make a deal?"

The women looked nervously at each other while Sam watched silently. This was what happened for everyone coming into House Scipio; All the models, designers, even Adrienne. Anyone that worked there, got a deal. However, none of their deals were as impressive or as long lasting as the one Sam had brokered long ago. Theirs were all petty; the models getting ones to maintain the perfect figure regardless of what they did, what they ate and always being able to walk right. The designers given the promise of success. And Adrienne? Well, she brokered one just to work with him, signed and sealed to not give away the secrets of her boss, plus a few other perks she'd never tell.

Vetis glanced over at the desk, the vellum pages filling with paragraphs of tiny writing, identical pages. Sam turned the pages around, a long blank line at the bottom stared at each of the designers dauntingly with the nice, fancy fountain pen waiting for them at the top.

"The choice is yours," Vetis continued, not moving from his lounged position. "I'll give you everything you ever wanted, and more."

Late that evening, Sam sat in an overstuffed chair in the large living room of the house that he shared. A large sketch pad was propped on his knee as he worked pencils of various colors across the page to create new designs. Inspiration was a cruel mistress sometimes. The television was on ahead of him, but he wasn't watching it, wasn't paying attention to it. He muttered under his breath, flipping a pencil around to erase at a line he'd just drawn.

His mind wandered back to his thoughts from earlier, the memories from his past; he hadn't thought about that for a very long time. He was over sixteen hundred years old after all, born in Rome in the 4th century A.D.. He had a lot of time, and a lot of other memories, to not think about that part of his past.

He'd hurried home after receiving that missive from his father, his father's stony face not betraying any emotion at all. No weakness. His mother was beside herself, back in her chambers to console herself alone with her grief. Ovidius told him, though ordered would be more of an apt description, that Flavius would join the military and that Flavius would continue the family tradition and family honor that his brother had been killed trying to uphold.

Flavius had been stunned, Gaius had not even been properly mourned yet and their father was already moving on with new plans.

But, little could be done to stop Ovidius when the man had set his mind to something. And despite Flavius' protests, and his mother's, he joined the military. He struggled through training, enduring the mocking and taunting from the others. He never expected to have to go through any of this. He was the second son, he'd expected a life of bureaucracy and legislature, not this, never this.

Four long, agonizing years he'd endured with just barely getting by before he'd received another missive from his father, along with transfer orders from someone in Rome. It seemed his father had called in more than a few favors for him, though Flavius knew it wasn't for his benefit. No, it was purely because Ovidius didn't think that his son was earning his full potential.

He read the transfer orders, Edessa. He got excited for that, a governorship at that! His father had called in some favors. Flavius had heard stories about a grand library they were building in that city, perhaps things were looking better after all.

Six months it had taken to get to Edessa. Six months of terrible weather, seas and sea sickness, rats and terrible food. He'd never been more pleased to see a port city in his life as when they pulled into Tripoli. More travelling to Edessa, then the best night of sleep that he'd gotten since he couldn't even remember when.

The next day he'd reported in, excited to see where he would be governing over, hoping it would be close to be able to take full advantage of the city at large. His stomach sank when he was told it was a 3 day ride to his posting, further east. So on they had travelled, the landscape changing to one more sparse and barren, with sand and dirt becoming more prevalent in the farmlands. And livestock herds seeming to outnumber people as they arrived in the town that had been indicated by their directions.

It had been Flavius and the very small group of soldiers he has been dispatched with from Edessa, and looking around their final arrival destination, he realized that his father hadn't worked that hard to get him a position after all. The village was small, barely developed and the people looked at them warily and suspiciously as they dismounted from their horses and made their way inside the governor's house; it was the biggest structure in the small village.

The two level house was nothing like the grand lodgings in Edessa, and he instantly missed them. He missed Rome even more. He sighed, untying his bags from his horse and following the couple soldiers into the house.

Two weeks passed in the village, which he learned was the biggest in the area, during which time he had done his best to introduce himself to the local people, inspected the village and surrounding lands and done his best to consider this a nice, welcome change to what he was doing before.

It was hot, unbearably so in this region, and he spent most of the sweltering afternoons reading in a spot of shade he was lucky enough to find. He read, he slept, sometimes he wrote. The messenger he had been promised arrived a week late, and he gladly gave him the sealed reports and letters; the letters were thicker than the reports. There just wasn't anything for him to do out here.

His lazy and lackadaisical nature changed rapidly barely a month into his tenure before everything fell apart.

He never asked what happened to his predecessor, or if he even had a predecessor. He had just assumed it was likely an old, feeble former general that had been given the post out of pity. But on this evening, with the sun setting bright red in the west, the villagers approached the house angrily, shouting in their native tongue; he became instantly nervous, speaking hesitantly in Latin that he'd been trying to teach them.

Torches were lit, the bright orange lights harsh in the fading light; Flavius fled into his house, the shouts rising around the house. He huddled in his room, hiding behind his desk, laughing bitterly; so much for his father's favors. It seems that the locals didn't get that particular notice, nor did they care. They didn't care about Rome or Romans at all, nor did they want to be ruled over by some outside force. He was doomed.

An amused chuckle broke his fevered fear and caused him to look over at the bed in the corner sharply. A man was stretched out on the bed, dressed in impeccable white robes with dark hair and darker eyes as he looked over at him amusedly.

"Trouble with the locals?" he asked, giving Flavius a smile.

Flavius stared at him, terrified of everything that was happening around him.

The man sat up, swinging his long legs over the side while still smiling.

"It certainly looks like you're in quite the bind," he continued, glancing outside of the window opening, sniffing the air. "Oh dear, it seems as though they've set the place on fire."

Flavius jumped to his feet, running to the window and sticking his head out to see that the lower level of the house was indeed on fire; the locals outside still shouted and jeered as they watched.

"We-we are going to burn alive," he stammered out, turning back to look at the man with wide eyes.

"You will," came the unconcerned reply. "Or at least, you might."

Flavius watched as the man removed a large scroll from a fold of his robe, that smile still on his face as though there was no dire situation at hand.

"Tell me," the man said, stepping forward to set the scroll on the desk. "Before you were sent to this," he gestured to the area around them. "Lovely town. What was it that you wanted to do?"

"I was to-"

"Ah, no," the man interrupted. "What you REALLY wanted to do."

Flavius hesitated.

"I wanted to be famous. To be a poet, or create something that everyone would know my name. To be able to have whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted," he admitted, his nerves grew as he smelled the burning wood coming up around them, stronger and stronger.

The man's smile grew even wider, adopting a darker, more sinister look. The scroll on the table grew thicker, as if filling itself with more information, more paragraphs and more details.

"I can give you that," the man said. "I can give you everything you ever wanted."

Flavius laughed. "How? We're about to burn alive here!"

The man didn't answer as he unrolled part of the scroll, setting it carefully on the desk. The smell of fire was very strong now, tendrils of the dark smoke beginning to waft through the closed door to the lower level.

"You come to work for me, nothing hard I assure you. Plenty of time to do whatever your little heart desires. You can go where ever you want, and I'll give you," he made a gesture with his hand. "Whatever you might want."

He fixed Flavius with a hard look, giving him that strange smile again. "Do we have a deal?"

"Wha-what do you mean work for you?" he asked, looking between the fat scroll and the man.

The floor beneath them shifted, falling down a few inches and betraying the dire situation below.

"Do we have a deal?" the man repeated, holding up Flavius' quill to him. "Time is up."

The television in the room he was sitting in blasted loudly as a large fighting scene was played out on the screen before him, it caused him to jump as he was ripped from his memories for the second time that day.

He shook his head, focusing back on his sketch pad with the designs he had been working on.

He'd signed the deal a few moments later, no time to ask questions and certainly no time to read the details. He'd been in his late 20s when Vetis had saved him from the house that night. Saved him from dying that night, but he had spent the next sixteen hundred years working.

Because that was the deal. He worked for Vetis, for the demon he made the deal with, and in exchange he never died. He never got sick, and never got injured. He could change his appearance at a mere thought, which came in handy when you didn't age naturally or die; people tended to question why you didn't age.

The exchange, the trade off, was that he indeed did have to work for the demon. He blemished souls as he convinced people that their vices weren't so bad and why not have a few more drinks, their family could certainly afford it. He slept around too, men and women alike, knowing how to infuse guilt and a slew of other emotions into his partner's psyche. Darkening the soul for hell, bit by bit.

But the main job he had for Vetis, the primary source of damned souls for Vetis and for hell, was the contracts that Flavius, now Sam, helped to broker. And he'd been doing that for a millenia and a half.

But the cost of that deal was extraordinary. Wealth, at least the kind that glitters or is exchanged by mortals meant nothing to Vetis. No, the cost of the deal Flavius had bartered away those hundreds of years ago, was the price of his soul. Immortality, or at least immortality until the end of the world, in exchange for an eternally damned soul.

The front door to the house opened, and Sam looked up, smiling at the two men that entered as they laughed with each other. Over the centuries, Vetis had grouped him up with others that had signed similar contracts to his own. Persons that, for their own reasons, had traded away their own souls for immortality as well.

Keys clattered in a large bowl on a side table next to the door as the heavy hard wood clamored back into it's holdings.

One of the men snorted.

"You're watching a gladiator movie? That's a little heavy on the irony, don't you think? I would have thought they would drive you crazy, being all wildly inaccurate and all," the man said, taking a few long strides over to flop down on the couch beside Sam.

"Most "historical"," he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "Movies are. The ones about the Witch Trials make me laugh so hard."

Same chuckled, shading in an area on his page with a purple pencil, not looking up at the screen.

"I wasn't really watching it, to be perfectly honest Jack," he said, looking up after a long moment. "Just had the channel on for some background noise. And, how would you know? Considering I'm the only one old enough to be from that era?"

Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. "You seriously want to try and tell me that everyone looked like that?"

Sam looked up at the screen, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," he said, a note of hesitation in his voice as he looked at the perfectly made up actors with perfect hair and perfect teeth. "You may have a point in some areas."

The other man that had walked in laughed as well, sitting down next to Jack.

"They never can portray the smell of the time in these movies, can they?" he said, speaking with a deep voice and a heavy eastern European accent. "One thing I will never miss."

They all nodded at that, Sam turning back to his sketch pad.

"Amen to that Nikola," Jack said, heaving himself off the couch. "I'm getting a drink, you want one?"

Sam shook his head, not looking up from his sketch.

"You had a show today, right?" Nikola asked.

"Yeah," Sam said in a distracted monotone. "Went well. Contracted two new designers too."

Jack chuckled, climbing over the back of the couch to sit back down with a bottled beer in hand now. "Bet that made Vetis happy."

Sam smiled, still not looking up.

"You're designing already for your next one? I know that intense stare you get when you're doing your clothes thing. What is it this time? Pirates? Regency? Futuristic? The color purple?"

"Roman," Sam answered, sighing and looking up at Jack.

"No shit?" Jack responded, taking a drink and grinning at Sam. "Little outdated don't you think? I don't see a lot of people wearing togas. Well, I'm sure Aster does during pledge week, but I think those are comparable really."

Nikola snorted, looking amused at the conversation. "What ARE you planning Sammy?"

Sam passed the pad over to them, letting them flip through the pages he'd already filled. As they looked through the drawings, he stretched out his cramped limbs, groaning as joints popped and muscles protested after being held in one position for too long.

"What made you decide to to Roman of all things?" Jack asked, passing the book over to Nikola.

Sam shrugged. "Just kinda came to me today. Plus, gladiator boots are back in style, along with all of the draped, flowy tops and dresses. It will be a hit."

"It's everything?" Nikola asked.

"Everything but, what was is Spring of 1964?" Jack asked, smirking up at Sam.

Sam bent down and picked up his notebook, turning on his heel to exit the room.

"I don't talk about that collection," he said. "I'm going to bed now."

Jack's and Nikola's laughter followed him up the stairs to his spacious room, where he tossed the sketch pad into the chair he had sitting against a window. He sighed heavily, beginning to undress from his fitted attire he'd wore that day.

Two large bookshelves sat opposite the window, full to bursting with an eclectic variety of sketch pads, notepads, journals. Some had modern bindings, some with leather bindings, some with ancient bindings. Both cases spoke volumes of Sam's age. Throughout the room were various other trinkets, baubles and mementoes from a variety of ages and cultures, more indications of the many lives he had lived.

He turned off the light in the room, pulling down the covers for his bed and climbing under the sheets. Another day of this never ending life done, and still a lifetime more to go. He could only imagine what awaited the next day, or what trials Vetis might have for him and the others. The laid down, dreaming of a very old past for the first time in a very long time and seeing old faces he'd long since forgotten.


	2. Intro Mari

Hellhounds Intro - Mari

Tooth = Mari Yaosong- Dvaravati Thai, mid-9th century

Please enjoy this look into the character that I've created for Tooth, Mari Yaosong, for this AU fic. My goal with these Intro chapters is to be able to give you a nice, solid look into their past lives, to see who they are and what they have become now in this modern present as they work towards this unachieveable end for their contract.

Hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think! Love! Aria.

* * *

A petite Asian woman, her long dark hair pulled up and back in a high tail that moved fluidly as she turned her head animated back and forth while she talked with the man she walked with, leading him through the spacious and luxurious gym that was mostly empty. She wore a pair of black, fitted cotton pants, dark trainers and a red tank top that bared her midriff; a bluetooth earpiece was fitted into one ear.

The man was taller, nearly six feet, middle aged with a balding head and a over-large stomach that threatened to burst the buttons on the waistband of his tailored trousers. He was breathing heavily just from the short walk around the gym and sweat beaded on his brow; the trip to the upper level had nearly had him cursing and grabbing at his knees. She felt bad for him.

"As you can see," she said, gesturing around the mostly empty gym. "Sessions are very private, I give you my complete attention for whatever amount of time you have allotted. I have several different types of workout plans that I can show you back in office if you would like."

She turned back to him, smiling widely. He was looking at his mobile phone, checking email and not paying much attention; she gritted her teeth.

"Right," he said, looking up at her. "And you are the only trainer here? There are no men trainers?"

She felt a prickle of annoyance at that.

"No, I'm afraid not. This is my own facility, I own and operate it myself."

He raised his brows at that, seeming impressed. "Alright, let me see what plans you have and all before I make my decision, it is only logical I suppose. You did come highly recommended."

She gave him a forced smile, gesturing for him to go in the direction of her office. Upon entry, he sat down heavily in one of the chairs while she slipped around to the other side and began pulling out various brochures, pamphlets, course offerings and plan pricings together to show him. He looked around at the office, brow furrowing again when we saw the case of medals and trophies behind her and a fight poster tacked to the wall.

"Is that you?" he said, gesturing to the glossy poster with her fact opposite one of her long time rivals to advertise a match.

She turned to look at the poster, even knowing exactly what he was pointing at before turning back to give him another smile.

"Yeah, that's me."

He looked between her, and then back at the poster, and then she glanced up to see his pudgy eyes scanning the case behind her.

"And, and you WON all of those?" he asked again, almost in disbelief.

"Yes," she said, smiling again, straightening from the desk to prop her arms on her hips and subtlety flexing her muscles. "Mixed Martial Arts, you don't follow it much I take it?"

"Oh I follow the men's stuff all the time, I love watching the fights," he said, leaning forward. "Don't care for the women's, too boring. No offense."

She held her smile forcibly at him. "Well, this it what we offer here at Fạn-tastic. There are small classes with just a couple other people a few times a wee-"

He snorted, moving his hand away. "What, like yoga and water aerobics? No thanks."

She paused, offput by his sudden interruption and dismissal before giving a soft chuckle and smile, setting the paper aside.

"We also offer vitamins, and other supplements to help you with losing the weight. You might have seen some advertisements for one of them around that I've helped to create? The Pisac Tea?"

He snorted again, waving his head dismissively. "Snake oil, I'm sure. Look, sweetheart, I'm sure you mean well but I'm just interested in doing it the good old fashioned way; hard work and elbow grease to get rid of the ol' spare tire."

"Okay," she said, giving him a more sincere smile. "Enthusiasm is always good. You'll need it, it's not an easy process."

He shifted in his seat, rolling his eyes.

"What does your schedule look like, I can see what the best times to fit for you are and try to accommodate you the best I can," she continued, moving her finger around the little touch pad for the slim laptop that sat beside her to wake up the screen and display the calendar. "How about after work? What time do you get off in the evenings?"

He sighed heavily. "It's different every day. I work a very important job, you see, and I don't really have a dedicated "out" time."

She gave him another forced smile. "Well, what about in the mornings?"

He rolled his eyes again. "No, too difficult with traffic, and other commitments. I have early morning meetings sometimes."

She nodded. "Okay, what about in the evenings then? I could work something out for an evening? Or lunch hour?"

"I'm not wasting my lunch hour in here," he said, disdain in his voice. "No, I don't think this will work. Your schedule just obviously won't work with mine. I think I'll just try to find another, or maybe a guy that might come to work in my home even."

He moved to get up out of his chair, dismissing her and done with her pitch of her gym.

"Thank you," he glanced over at the poster. "Uhh, Mari."

A true smile spread over her lips, dark and amused as she ran her hand across the top right drawer of her desk, glancing down at it before looking back up sharply at him.

"I do have one other option, that I think might be the best fit for you. I was trying to save the best for last," she said, still smiling at him.

He paused, hesitating at her change in tone from cheery and peppy to serious. He sat back down, the superior and amused grin on his face once again.

"Another bit of snake oil to try and sell me?" he asked cheekily.

"Oh no," she said, pulling open the drawer and selecting a single sheet of blank vellum parchment and setting it on her desk before moving the photocopied gym papers out of the way.

"No, this is quite the deal, I assure you," she said, running her right hand down the length of the inside her left wrist, almost looking like she was rubbing her hands with glee.

She fell silent, stepping from behind her desk and over to the door to close it with an ominous creaking of hinges and solid metal latching. She turned back to see him leering at her.

'Letch," she thought, before her eyes flicked up to the man sitting in a white suit behind her desk.

"Mr. Thomas here, it seems, needs a rather good deal. He wants to get thin and pretty again, but doesn't want to have to work very hard for it."

Mr. Thomas continued to stare at her, his brow furrowing in confusion at her words.

"Is that so?" came Vetis' smooth, honeyed voice from his seat, hands steepled before him as he studied the man. "Well. I do so love a good deal."

Mr. Thomas jumped, spinning his pudgy body around in his chair to stare at Vetis.

"Wha-, How?"

Mari took a few slow steps back to the desk, turning around to lean back up against it.

"I already told you," she said. "You make a deal. With him. And then you get what you want. Whatever it is you are wanting, and immediately. No work, no time wasted, no sweat."

Mr. Thomas snorted, leaning back in his chair. "That's impossible."

Mari just smiled at him.

"And, just for argument's sake," he said, leaning forward again. "Even if it WERE possible, you'd likely charge me a fortune. Thanks, but no thanks."

He moved to stand up again.

"I don't care about your money," Vetis said again, smoothly.

Mr. Thomas paused again, Mari watched him stare at the demon; it was Vetis' eyes that got them, always the eyes.

"You-you don't?" he asked, glancing to Mari as if for confirmation. Mari shrugged. "What do you want then?"

A slow, devilish smile spread over Vetis' features as he lowered his hands into his lap. "I suppose, Mr. Thomas," he said, moving one hand to gesture towards the fat man. "That depends on what all you want. So why don't you tell me, and then we will get to the negotiations. You can always say 'no'."

Mari looked down at her feet and smiled. No one ever said 'no' once they were this far into it.

Mr. Thomas listed off his ideal body type, including a fix to his balding head. Vetis tilted his head back to listen to the man, a pen lifted off the desk and beginning to write on the vellum Mari had laid out.

Mr. Thomas stared at the pen, looking between it and Vetis.

"What, are you like a wizard or something? Is that your big secret?"

Vetis continued to smile, the pen poised just above the vellum to continue writing.

"Or something," the demon replied, that sinister smile still stretched across his lips.

An hour and a half later, she was alone in the back of the gym. Silence filled the air, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of something hard coming into contact with something harder; Mari concentrated fully on the large brute of a man before her in full protective padding, his arms moving quickly to block her attacks.

Punch. Jab. Kick. Kick. Thrust. Uppercut. Repeat.

Training routines, fighting dances she'd taught herself to keep her rhythm and flow natural.

They had all come out of her office, with Mr. Thomas, pleased with the results; Vetis had gotten another soul, she'd been the one who had gotten him that soul, and Mr. Thomas had gone through three pages of vellum listing off all the frivolous material things that he wanted, signing on the blood red dotted line without a second thought before driving off in his new luxury car (that had been transformed from the 6-year old sedan that was there before).

He'd reminded her of her uncle, someone she hadn't thought about (or wanted to think about) in several hundred years.

She'd gone to live with him, been entrusted into his care after her parents had died. That had been a long, long time ago; over a thousand years now.

She'd grown up in Thailand, before the name Thailand had even been considered. She remembered the long journey she'd taken to live with her uncle, her few belongings tucked around her in the cart while she clutched a handmade doll that her mother had made to dry her tears.

A sickness had come through their village, a plague of some sort she realized now, and had killed most of the inhabitants of the small fishing community. Mari had gotten ill first, the pustules and sores marring her skin while a cough caused her body to heave with convulsions. Her mother had stayed with her, nursing her the best she could with the few herbal medicines they had developed back then while her father worked with any job he could find, trying to make sure that Mari had enough of whatever she needed to get better.

She'd gotten better, slowly recovering from the sickness with scarred skin to remind her of her ordeal when her mother had fallen ill and taking Mari's place on the sickbed. Her father followed soon after, both of them covered with the same sores and pustules that she had been.

Her father was unable to work quickly, no one wanting to work with him as he doubled over coughing, with the combination of fear of getting sick themselves, and rocked the small boats they worked on. Mari had worked under her mother's guidance to try and care for her parents, working (while all of six) to care for the two ill adults with the small amount of knowledge, resources and care that she could.

And so, after their deaths, she'd been sent to live with her uncle, her mother's brother, in the larger village north of where she had lived; the plague had killed all of her family in the village.

She'd arrived, practically dumped at his doorstep, a dirty, sniffling six-year old with little money and fewer belongings. He'd cursed her mother's name as her aunt had pulled her inside.

She'd gone from a house that had been very small, but well kept, to one that was large but nearly falling apart. It was crowded, filthy, and smelly, with more than a few cousins, aunts and her maternal grandparents all living in the space.

Her uncle had spat curses at her parents until his mother reprimanded him for speaking ill of the dead, then he began to curse and bemoan how he was supposed to pay and provide for another mouth, another girl, in his house.

He'd shorn her hair off that night, muttering to himself about being cursed with too many girls, before telling her that she'd go to work with him in the morning. He ordered her not to speak when she was outside of the house, to avoid anyone. She was to act like a boy, dress like a boy, and, for all intensive purposes, be a boy.

"Gan," he had told her, pointing a grimy, bony finger in her face. "If anyone makes you give your name, your name is Gan."

And she'd done as he'd told her, quietly keeping her head down as she followed him every morning, after being roughly awoken and told "get up!", down to the fishing docks. She'd scramble into the small boat, using all of her body weight to push the vessel the last few feet into the water before clambering over the side as her uncle began to paddle out to fish.

They usually would see the sun rise in the mornings; it was something she always looked forward to.

Then came the fishing, as the roughly hewn nets were lowered into the water with bits of yesterday's catch to attempt to attract new. Then they would haul the nets up, putting the fish into baskets her aunts had woven, and continuing the process until the baskets were full of wriggling fish.

After this was done, her uncle would steer the boat back into the port village and then they would begin the process of selling the fish. She got very good at haggling with people over the price of their fish, knowing when to give just a little and when to hold firm with customers. She knew that while he would never say it, her uncle was quietly impressed with her on a very small level that he begrudged her for.

This was the process, day after day until she was twelve. That was when her breasts started budding in, and then her menses came.

The silent respect and acceptance for her very hard work that she had earned with her uncle evaporated. After she began her monthly bleeds, she was told to stay in the house and earn her keep there. While she tried hard to win her only family's approval again, her uncle began to look for suitors that would offer a decent bride price for his late sister's orphan.

Several years passed, with her uncle growing more and more disdainful of her with every passing year until one day, just after her fourteenth year, he'd come home very happy. She'd grown worried at that, at seeing his wide grin and happy demeanor.

* * *

~*~ Thailand, Dvaravati Era, 864 A.D.

"It's done," her uncle said, coming into the hot and crowded house with a cloth bag gripped in one had. The stalks of fresh vegetables were sticking out of the top of it. "I have found a suitor for Gan."

"Mari," her aunt quietly corrected, smiling up at him. "You have to call her Mari now."

He waved his hand, not seeming to care. "I found a suitor, and he offered a nice bride price for you."

He waved dismissively at Mari.

"He will come to collect you tomorrow."

She felt nerves boil up in her stomach. She'd gone for so long without any interest from anyone at all, to then go to such a quick change. She swallowed, preparing to speak, but her grandmother spoke first.

"Tomorrow, that's rather sudden. Who is it?" the old woman said, giving her son a curious look.

"Sarut," he said. "Very eager for Ga-Mari here, says he'll take care of everything."

The nerves in her stomach dropped, replaced with a hard chill down her spine. Sarut was well known in the village, and she'd heard a couple of women tittering about his latest wife disappearing a few weeks prior when Mari had gone to collect water from the well the other day. She would be his fourth wife.

She stared at her uncle, terrified and speechless at the future that he'd seemingly set up for her so casually. The rest of the conversation had blurred out around her as the weight of everything came down around her, the dread of tomorrow heavy on her heart.

Surely there was something better for her, anything had to be better than marrying that terrible, odious letch of a man. Working at the temple would be better than marrying him, she'd at least have some say in who she gave herself to if she worked there. Or maybe she could run away, run back to her old village where her parents had lived and try to live there. Surely there was someone there that still remember her family there, she could arrange a marriage on her own.

One thing was certain that evening, after considering her few paltry possibilities, and that was that she would fight. Fight for something better for herself, no matter how small or how short it might be.

In the deep, quiet dead of the evening, Mari gathered up her few small belongings and quietly left out the door; she took only a few wrapped pieces of food and her childhood doll to keep her company.

She hurried along the small pathway, getting away from the house and over to the waterfront where the moon brightly reflected off the ocean. She relaxed as she passed the pier, the village beginning to fade behind her in the distance.

She turned, looking behind her quickly before turning back around to see the path before her and let out a yelp of surprise, covering her mouth quickly to muffle her alarmed scream with her doll as a man had appeared just before her on her path.

His clothing was richly woven, and harsh white in the dark night with the moonlight; the white was a stark contrast to his bronze colored skin. He smiled at her, revealing even white teeth for his handsome features. She'd never seen him before in the village, and she certainly would have remembered hearing about a noble like him living in the village.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, leaning lazily against the last post of the dock as he looked at her.

She froze, unable to respond as that harsh chill returned to her body.

"I-I," she stammered, staring wide eyed at him.

"Running off, trying for bigger and better things?" he continued, still watching her.

She nodded, looking down at the ground. "Yes," she said quietly.

"I see," he responded, letting silence fall into the area.

Thoughts whirled in her head. Was he going to take her back? Was he going to try and take her for himself? Had the only bit of freedom for herself been just this short walk from her uncles house to the end of the pier?

She looked back up at him.

"I won't go with you," she said quietly, hoping for the best outcome to her response.

His brow rose at that.

"No?" he said, a questioning note in his tone.

"No," she said again, voice raising a little in confidence. "No, I won't go back there. And-and I'll fight to get away if I have to."

He smiled at that. "I could help you get away," he said. "I could take you very, very far away from here."

She didn't answer him.

"And you can have whatever you want," he continued, stepping forward, spreading his arms out like he was offering her the world.

She was silent a long few moments as she looked at him. "And you want me to marry you?"

He laughed, shaking his head.

"My dear, while you are quite lovely, I'm afraid my tastes are reserved," he said, stepping forward and offering his hand for her.

She held out her left, his skin surprisingly cool in the hot, summer night air.

"No," he continued. "You will work for me, and with a couple of others that I think you'll get along quite well with. You work for me, the little job here and there, and in exchange, I give you whatever your pretty little heart desires."

She considered, looking at his impossibly dark eyes and perfect smile while she tried to think, and the thoughts of what she'd already lived through passed through her mind. What could possibly a few "jobs" compare to the hell she'd already lived through.

She nodded, watching a glint in his eyes grow.

"You agree to the terms?" he asked.

She nodded again.

"Say, "I agree to the terms" my dear, it's how this all will work."

She looked at him, confused and felt her brows knit together.

"I agree to your terms," she said slowly, hesitantly.

White hot pain lanced on the inside of her wrist, causing her to drop her food and her doll with her right hand and look down at her raw, newly branded mark on the inside of her left wrist.

* * *

She brought her left arm around hard, following it quickly with a kick, knocking the man she'd been fighting over, causing him to curse.

"God damn Mari," he said, pulling the protective mask off and holding his hands up in defeat. "You gotta go easy on me girl. I don't have those, those super powers like you do. You just pay me to look like your intimidating bodyguard, remember?"

Mari shook her head slightly, blinking a few times as she refocused back onto her surroundings in her gym. She grimaced.

"Sorry Lek," she said, stepping over to offer him a hand up and using her nickname for him. "I guess I zoned out there."

The pseudo-bodyguard chuckled as she hauled him off the floor with little effort.

"I think I'm just going to go do a bit of shopping then go home for the evening," she said, shaking her head. "You take the night off, go enjoy whatever."

He grinned at her. "You sure? Mr. Hotshot might not have recognized you, but you are known for living here in the City."

She flashed him a smile. "Then I guess I'll just have to use a different face."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stripped off the practice padding with loud rips of velcro.

"I'll never get used to that," he said.

She shrugged, turning to walk back into her office. "Part of the job dear, you knew that going into it."

She smirked, entering her office and sitting down. She gathered her things together, closing down business for the day on this end before she would go around and lock up the facility; the sheets of contracted vellum had vanished with the demon a long while ago. Another mark for her never ending list for Vetis.

She moved to close the still open desk drawer with the special parchment nestled carefully inside and looked up sharply at a knock on the door.

"Mari?" a female voice said.

A smile spread over Mari's face. "Nina!" she said with a note of surprise, closing the drawer and straightening. "How have you been?"

The woman was taller than Mari, slender but athletic in her blue sundress, her own dark, brown hair pulled up and back as well.

"Good, good," Nina said. "Just, just stopped by to say hey. It's been awhile."

Mari quirked a brow, eyes straying to the poster on the side of the office wall. The two women faced off against each other in the eternal pose, with taped hands at the ready as they looked about to fight each other on the large, printed page. Mari Yaosong versus Nina Alvarez was written in big, bold red letters across the letters, with the details of the fight date and time below it.

"Yeah," she said, agreeing. "It has been a minute.

Nina smiled, looking down at her hands. "You know, I kept telling myself that I just wanted one more win after that fight. One more win, one more win. That was supposed to be my big one."

"I remember the pre-game interviews," Mari said, a sly smile on her lips. "You were quite, colorful in how you were going to beat me."

Nina gave a bitter chuckle. "I guess you'll be happy to know I'm going into retirement, still winless after that bout with you."

Mari smiled, looking down at the drawer for a long moment before looking back up at Nina.

"You could still go out on top, you know."

Nina gave her a half smile. "Thanks for not stomping on my ego when given the chance, but if you haven't kept up with me, I've lost the last five title fights I've gone in. No, I think my time has come and gone, and it's time for me to leave while I still have some dignity left."

Mari shrugged. "You can," she said, pausing again. "Though, I suppose I depends on how much you really want that win."

Nina gave her a curious look. "What, are you talking about fixing a fight? No way."

Mari shook her head. "No, I have a way that I can promise you that title fight win that you want. It's what, a month from now?"

Nina nodded, looking skeptical.

"I can promise you'll win the fight. It just depends on how much you're willing to pay."

"Anything," Nina breathed.

Mari covered her hand over her left wrist, both of looking at the door when it closed firmly a moment lately.

"Well, Mari, two in one day," Vetis' cool voice came as he leaned against the exit. "I must admit, I'm rather impressed."

Mari smiled, glancing down at Nina.

"So then," Vetis said, taking a step forward as Mari opened the drawer to the desk. "Want to make a deal then?"


End file.
